


Under This Strange Moon; This is When I Love You

by burymeinziam



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 22:44:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burymeinziam/pseuds/burymeinziam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And Liam has never heard it like that before; has never heard that particular word on Zayn's lips in such a volatile way. Because behind the closed door of their bunk, hidden underneath the sheets, it was always “please, Liam, please” in this broken whispered voice, desperation pooling in the corners of Zayn's hollowed mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under This Strange Moon; This is When I Love You

He can hear it through the door.

Beside him, Harry sits slack against the couch, an almost empty can of coke crushed between his knees and his head lolling back on his neck. Every night is the same thing, Harry will knock out around 11:15, sometimes 11:30, sometimes 11:05, depending on the amount of caffeine he's shad and what's playing on the television. It doesn't matter where they are or who they're with, it's sort of just how things work. It's 12:26 right now and the slow rocking of the tour bus is tilting Harry ever so gently to the right closer toward Liam, and then back to the left and then back to the right all over again. It's almost unnoticeable, but Liam does, since he's so focused on trying not to listen. 

Liam pushes his palms anxiously along the fabric of his pants, grips his knees with pressure whitened fingers as he worries his bottom lip between his teeth. His neck aches with the strain it causes to not turn around but he can hear it through the fucking door growing louder and more urgent inside his ears even though it's really nothing more than a faint murmur from the room behind him. 

Every night it's the same damned thing. Across the bus, Niall sits at a small table bolted to the wall just behind the curtains that separate the living area from the driver's and passenger's seats at the front of the bus. He's got his laptop plugged into an outlet near his feet. The hum of the portable indoors generator is a constant thrumming lullaby underneath the floorboards. His mouth contorts with frustration as he slams his hand down against the keyboard. 

“Fucking Hell,” he mutters, ripping his headphones from his ears. “That was my last life.” Niall scratches the side of his head as he eyes Liam. “You okay, mate? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

Supplying a weak smile, Liam runs a hand through his hair. “Spock, Kirk, and McCoy have been taken prisoner again,” he offers nodding toward the television where he and Harry had been watching Star Trek.

It's louder now, the frantic creaking of bed springs, a breathy moan. 

Liam meticulously stares at Niall, watching his expression to gauge whether or not he can hear the secret hiding out in one of the back rooms. Instead, Niall only grins, nods and says “The cat woman episode? I love that one.” before he once again becomes absorbed in his game.

Liam doesn't bother with telling Niall that he's going to head off to bed when his knees crack and pop from beneath his skin as he rises from the couch. He sneaks the can of coke from between Harry's knees and places it on a nearby table knowing that with Harry's luck the soda would probably spill over into his crotch at some point during sleep which would then lead to him waking up feeling sticky and stirring up the whole bus about how he either had the best dream of his life or he's wet his pants. Liam is pretty sure he won't want to deal with that sort of hysteria in the morning. 

Liam rubs his eyes with the backs of his knuckles as he stumbles out of his shoes and tosses his sweatshirt onto a chair that appears to be propping up a half-tower of mismatched Legos that Louis had probably been fooling around with earlier that evening. They waver, threatening to tip over, but don't collapse. Clad in jeans and a pair of graying socks, Liam tiptoes over to the door separating their cluttered living area from the bunk that he shares with Harry and Zayn while they're out on the road. It's quiet for a moment as he presses his ear to the chipped wood, bracing his hands against the frame, and then the sounds are freshly renewed for his uneasy ears. 

“Oh, God... please; ahh, Liam...”

Short gasps echo from inside the bunk, the weak voice from before accompanied by a string of muffled, pleading groans and the scrape of bedposts moving against plaster wall. Liam's face blossoms a harsh red as he recalls that Zayn is in there all by himself that night; their only real rule being no stranger-fucks on the tour bus. Zayn breathes out his name again followed by one or two quiet expletives and another stifled moan.

It's almost unbelievable, really. Liam peers around the hallway corner to see if anyone else has taken notice. Harry emits a murmuring snore and lets his mouth droop open in sleep, Niall glances up a moment later from his game and grins, offering Liam a goodnight salute. It seems as though all Liam can focus on, all his inflamed brain can filter out, are Zayn's lust-weakened cries. And yet everyone else is entirely oblivious to the clandestine exhibit of passion. 

Liam anxiously runs his fingers through his hair, an age-old habit akin to biting his nails or cracking his knuckles, and then begins to walk loudly back over to his bunk, thumping the soles of his feet against the floor like a warning. It does the job; as he reaches for the door knob he can hear Zayn shuffling urgently under the sheets and creaking against the mattress. Liam pushes the door open quietly, preparing himself for what, he isn't sure, only just peaking his head around the frame. In the darkness Zayn is sprawled out on his stomach across the bottom bunk, face mashed into the pillow as he feigns sleep. His back is bare and lightly freckled, but Liam can tell from the placement of his sheets that Zayn is naked underneath as well. There is a lot more hiding under the mussed bedding than bare skin. 

“Hey, Zayn, you still awake?” Liam whispers hesitantly, gently closing the door behind him. All traces of artificial lighting disappear, closing them off in fragile ribbons of moonlight from the small rectangle window between the two bunk levels. 

There's no answer for a moment, just the controlled sound of Zayn's breathing and the generator purring from within the walls. Then his eyes flutter half way open, gradually growing wider, as if he'd really just woken up to the sound of Liam calling his name. 

“Hey, Li,” Zayn murmurs through a yawn, smiling sleepily. “I was just just taking a little nap.”

“Oh,” Liam replies. “I didn't mean to wake you up; Go on back to bed.” Problem solved.

But then Zayn says, “No, no. It's okay. Really.” He lifts his head from the pillow and scoots onto his right side, hitching the sheet half-way up his chest. “Did you get any writing done tonight?”

Balancing against the double bunk posts, Liam peels away one sock and then the other, balling them up and tossing them into a mesh hamper at the opposite end of the tiny room. Harry's single bed is pressed against the same wall, parallel to the bunk beds that Zayn and Liam share. 

“Not really,” he answers in a hushed voice as his eyes adjust to the darkness. “I ended up watching Star Trek with Harry until he fell asleep on the couch.”

Zayn chuckles, then Liam adds. “What did you get up to tonight?”

He says it before he can even think about the words coming out of his mouth and suddenly Liam has all these images of Zayn arching his back against the sheets, the muscles bunching in his neck as the balls of his feet desperately push into the mattress swimming around in his head and, these images, they're so real that Liam can almost smell Zayn's sweat in the air; the scent of sex and expensive cologne and plug-in air freshener.

Liam knows that Zayn is seeing these same things because he's biting his lip as he gives Liam this charming little smile that sends flashes of heat careening up and down Liam's thighs. 

Zayn says, “I read for a little while and just, you know, relaxed a bit; had some down time by myself.”

And Liam can swear that Zayn's eye does this thing; this little twitch that's almost a wink except that it happens so fast that Liam can't even really be sure. 

Liam brings his hand down to his zipper and then pauses, catches Zayn's smoldering eyes once more. There stands a moment where neither of them will look away and the shadows close around them like a deaf, tight-fingered ocean. Zayn's eyes fall half-lidded so that the pupil fills up his whole iris, remaining silently on Liam's before drifting down to where his lean fingers rest at the waist-line of his jeans. 

And this is when Liam knows that he has to imagine that this is any other night, like he never heard anything outside of these thin walls at all; like he is covered by the swollen dark and this is just... going to bed. 

So he twists open his button in the most nonchalant manner he can manage, quickly yanks his jeans down over his thighs and kicks his legs free of the confining material. It's awkward and burningly satisfying all at the same time. Liam lingers there in his tight, baby blue boxer briefs, scratching the back of his head and attempting to quiet the blaring wish that Zayn had really been asleep all along.

“Well,” Liam says, hooking his foot over the bottom rung of the ladder leading up to his messy bunk. “I guess I better get to bed.” 

“Yeah,” Zayn replies. “I heard we've got an interview around eleven.”

Liam settles into his bunk and stretches out all of the tension buried inside his muscles. Something between his shoulder blades pops satisfyingly and releases a warm wash of loveliness like liquor through his veins. Gathering the sheets up around his shoulders, Liam hugs his pillow as a slow, cold bead of sweat wanders from between his collarbones and down his chest, carving a quivering path over his nipple. He bites down on his lip and quietly calls out

“Goodnight, Zayn.”

“Sleep tight, Liam.”

And then it's silent for a long time. Long enough for Liam's eyes to sting and grow heavy and gritty like sand. Long enough to feel his spine melting into the mattress. When Zayn doesn't speak again, Liam lets his eyes drip shut and he gives in to sleep. His brain slowly stops buzzing, starts to click off, lulls him into that strange blackened static just before unconsciousness. 

The bed beneath him groans. 

Liam listens faintly, as if stuck on the opposite end of a tunnel, to the creaking sounds of Zayn leaving his bed. The quiet scrape of bare feet against the carpet. In the soft silence that ensues, Liam rolls onto his side and lifts himself onto one of his elbows. “Zayn?” He calls out, quietly. “What are you doing?”

“Liam...” Zayn whimpers weakly. 

The light switches on and Liam follows the stretch of Zayn's tattooed arm with squinted eyes. Zayn stands small and naked at the end of the bunk, painted vulnerable and uncomfortably uncertain in his skin as both of his arms fall limply to his sides. He shifts his weight nervously from one foot to the other and back again, the muscles in his thin thighs straining against his skin with each fragile movement. 

“Zayn what are you doing?” Liam is trying with everything inside of him not to look down; not to follow the course trail of hair leading from Zayn's shadowy navel to that secret place between his legs. 

Zayn refrains from looking down at his own body, keeping his eyes glued to Liam's. “I just... I needed you to see me.”

“Can't I see you with your clothes _on_?” Liam asks. “In the morning?”

“I... I-Liam...”

Zayn's voice falters and then falls silent as his head lowers to his chest in a vision of shame. In the blurry light, Liam watches the staggering bounce of Zayn's Adam’s apple, the faint pool of pink in his cheeks that Liam's fingers unexpectedly itch to touch. 

“Zayn...” He says carefully. “I just... I don't know what you want from me.”

“I want you to want me,” Zayn bluntly replies, looking up toward Liam with sad, hopeful eyes.

“ _What?_ ”

“Please, Liam. I know that you know it. You know what I want and I just – I want you to want it too.”

And then Liam is laughing. He's sitting up against the wall and laughing because he isn't really sure that this is his life, right here, right now; a separate entity from the images that sneak into his mind while he's sleeping and leave him blushing warm and hot when he wakes I the morning. He sees Zayn's face steer from pleading to bitter confusion, flirting briefly with a flicker of hurt before finally settling on anger. The transition happens within about seven fleeting seconds that cushion Liam in a bubble of unprepared oblivion. 

“Jesus, Liam! You don't have to be such a dick about it!” Zayn hisses, folding his arms in front of his chest in anger and maybe to try and minimize his vulnerability.

“Hey,” Liam says, glancing toward the door. “Would you keep your voice down? You want the whole bus to hear you?” 

“Fuck you!” Zayn responds loudly, his voice clawing raggedly out from the tense column of his throat. Patches of skin across the length of his entire, bared body flush a bright, pounding red. “You think you're so much better than me, don't you? Well, that's bullshit, Liam. Just because you lack any modicum of emotion doesn't mean that the rest of us don't gt hurt.“ 

His face is beating with humiliation as Zayn storms across the tiny room and begins digging through a duffel bag full of his clothing. As he sorts through piles of shirts, Liam slips down from his bed and grabs the top of Zayn's bicep, yanking him around.

“Get your hands off – ”

“You can't go out there like this.” Liam can feel himself cracking. “They won't understand...”

“You're worried about _them?_ ” 

“I just...”

“You're such a selfish prick, Liam,” Zayn spits. “Now let go of me so I can get the fuck out of here.”

And so Liam does the only thing he can really think to do at the time; he rears back and gives Zayn a shove with his hands. It's not a very hard push, he thinks, but it's enough to send the smaller man backwards and into the wall. The resounding thump cracks through the room and the bundle of t-shirts and boxers fall from Zayn's hands to scatter around their feet with the sensual hush of fabric on carpet. For a brief moment Zayn simple stares at him, and then he steps forward and plants his sweating palms against Liam's clammy shoulders. He throws all of his weight into his wrists and the next thing Liam knows, he's stumbling backwards into Zayn's low bottom bunk. He hits the wooden frame hard and nearly falls to the floor on impact.

A sharp pain throbs in the vicinity of Liam's lower back, producing a a pathetic moan from within the confines of his throat. He slumps back against the bunk and closes his eyes as the pain spreads outwards like a star exploding in the sky. Liam can hear it, Zayn's footsteps pounding toward him again, and his cock starts to twitch under the thin veil of his underpants and Jesus Christ could he use a drink.

“How does It feel?” Zayn rages. Even though he's so much smaller than Liam, Zayn still manages to intimidate him, his anger swelling against Liam's buzzing frame and it's strange and scary and so out of character, but it feels fucking amazing. Liam almost opens his mouth to tell him so when Zayn's clenched fist suddenly twists away from his panting side, connecting hard with Liam's left cheekbone. A sharp cry issues from his stunned lips as he crashes into the floor. 

Zayn is on top of him in seconds, legs wrapped tight around his hips as his fists sink furiously into every part of Liam's body that goes unprotected by his arms and hands. Tears of anger have welled in Zayn's manically lucid eyes, smearing over his inflamed cheeks. “Fuck you, Liam!” He gasps, each blow becoming a bit less fierce; less controlled. He pounds against Liam's chest with flat, open palms and the slapping sound it creates echoes weak and desperate. 

Seizing the lapse in his energy, Liam throws a quick punch at Zayn's jaw. There's hardly any force behind it; it's more of a cloudy attempt at self-defense, but it takes Zayn by complete surprise. His head snaps to the side as he tumbles off of Liam's hips, sprawling onto his back with a small, frightened cry. Liam stumbles to his knees and the dizziness radically takes him. Through the blur of screaming colors and shapes he see Zayn reach up, dab at the fresh cut seeping at the corner of his plump bottom lip. His fingers come away with a small smear of red-orange serum. 

“You... You hit me,” Zayn mumbles in shock, words directed toward the blood on his stiff fingers.

“Yeah,” Liam replies. “You attacked me, Zayn. What did you expect me to do?” Bringing his hand up to the swollen skin around his left eye, Liam can feel the flaming rush of blood shooting through his vibrating veins. The throbbing is inside of him and all around him, kissing his skin with fire filled lips and leaving him short of breath and practically dissolving into flames himself with the rush of wanting and needing and desiring. Liam can feel the quiet throbbing of his erection straining against his underpants, causing him to curse under his breath, because it's the very last thing he needs right now. 

But he's on his hands and knees anyways, crawling over to Zayn and grabbing hold of his wrists and pinning them above his head. And Zayn is whimpering softly now, the fear in his eyes accompanied by something else; something smug and clouded with guileless lust.

A quiet bead of sweat slides along his hairline. 

“You made me bleed.” 

“You deserved it.”

Liam can feel the control drain from his pores, feels it rush out and spill onto the floor around them, lapping at their trembling limbs and Jesus fucking Christ could Liam really use a drink. 

Slowly, he lowers his head and flicks his tongue over the small wound on Zayn's swelling mouth. It tastes of salt and iron and sweat and cigarettes and Liam loves it. Beneath his grip, Zayn protests so lightly, the muscles in his wrists pathetically arching against Liam's palms. Liam drags his tongue across the cut again, this time dipping it into the man's begging mouth. The blood mingles between their lips, coating their mouths with the thick salty liquid. A strangled gasp is captured inside Liam's throat, but neither of them is really breathing anymore. 

Liam watches Zayn's eyes in the yellowed moonlight, wide and glinting with bewilderment. Zayn's body burns under his own. 

“Liam...” Zayn breathes unsteadily. “What – what are you doing?” 

“This is what you wanted, isn't it?” 

There's a small, tentative nod.

“Okay then. I”m just giving you what you wanted; what you always wanted me to want.”

Zayn yelps as Liam's teeth sink into the sheath of muscle just above his hollowed collarbone, sucking on the skin there hard enough to guarantee a bruise. It's an awareness that hardens every muscle in Liam's body as he braces himself against Zayn's struggle by grinding his hips into the man beneath him, drinking in Zayn's gasps of pain as if they were the liquor Liam was so desperately craving. Within seconds he is trading and swallowing released breaths of conflicted pleasure, smiling with all of his teeth against Zayn's bared neck. 

“Don't move,” Liam says.

And then

“Okay.”

Followed by

“Promise me.”

because for some reason Liam doesn't think he could take it if Zayn were to leave.

“I promise you, I won't move, Liam,” Zayn replies in a low, earnest voice.

Liam releases Zayn's wrists then, crouching and teetering above him. All motion a blur, Zayn's hands fly frantically to the elastic waistband at Liam's hips working the flimsy material over his ass. 

“I said don't move,” Liam says, trying to remain serious around the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Just hold on a second.” Pushing Zayn's hands away, Liam gets to his feet and crosses the tiny room in four steps, bending down next to his own suitcase. He looks at his hands which no longer seem familiar to him, covered in blood and spit. His aching body that is raw with energy feels so alien to him now. 

From the front pocket, Liam retrieves an almost empty bottle of lubricant and then –

“No... No condom, Liam,” Zayn says softly, voice drifting feebly across the room; syllables nearly lost in his shaky inhalations.

Grinning, Liam returns to him, dangling the lube above his chest. “Haven't got any.”

Zayn doesn't say anything, but he really doesn't have to since Liam doesn't miss the concern that flashes across his eyes.

“What? You think I'm a whore or something?” He asks.

“No,” Zayn answers quickly. “I just –”

Liam crushes his lips against Zayn's then, cutting off any chance he had at finishing his sentence. There's the sharp flash of pain at Liam biting down on Zayn's bottom lip sending harsh vibrations throughout his body. “I'm not,” Liam breathes against Zayn's swollen mouth as he wriggles out of his underpants, flinging them off into the welcoming darkness of their bunk. Liam doesn't care where it lands. He's only concerned with how his cock is pressing flush against Zayn's thigh, the sensitive underside scraping against secret skin. Liam only cares about Zayn's long, choked off moan against his shoulder, eager hands scraping down his chest. 

“Christ,” Zayn whines achingly. He wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, drags his blunt nails down his own stretched sides; over the thin ridges of his ribs, dipping seductively into each hollow before sliding down to his hips. His fingers wrap around the bird-wing bones until he reaches the shadowed curve of Liam's thighs, touching timidly as he palms over the soft, milky skin.

And all Liam can really do at the moment is watch. He watches the place where their bodies join, his cock spilling over Zayn's and the rubbing of skin and the red, red flush. Zayn's dark eyelashes smudge the tops of his cheeks as he smashes his eyes shut. They crinkle at the corners, tiny creases exploding outward in a starburst of flesh. Leaning forward, Liam traces his fingers, slow-moving around the heated shell of Zayn's ear. The smaller man shivers and moans audibly into the stiflingly tiny room. Liam ghosts his fingers over the smooth, goose-flesh expanse of Zayn's bared neck, the straining veins, the fluctuating swivel of his Adam’s apple. 

“Gotta promise me two more things, Zayn.” Liam's whisper is a low buzz in Zayn's ear. A buzz like blood in his veins and running and, strangely, like the cryptic shriek of air swallowing him whole.

Squirming to sit up on his elbows, Zayn cocks his head and breathlessly watches the man straddling his hips. The view from where he's sitting is impeccable and off-focus, as if he's watching through a telescope. Zayn shakes his head; his neck wobbles and aches. 

“No more promises, Liam. Please.” His voice feels weary and frail. “I Just... I just want you.”

“Just these two things, Zayn,” Liam presses. “You have to.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Fine.”

Liam exhales, drags his fingers over Zayn's thighs prompting a shaky intake of air before he says “This can't change us.”

Zayn's drags a hand over his face. He looks simultaneously exhausted and fucked. “What?”

“I'm being serious.” Liam is aware of the blood drying beneath his lips and the coolness left by Zayn's fingers leaving his thighs. “We can't do this unless you promise that it's not going to change how we act toward each other. You can't let on to the guys; you can't tell anyone. You can't get all weird and freak out.”

“That's more than two things, Liam,” Zayn says around a smile.

“I'm being serious.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, glares at him tiredly before lust and fatigue drag his eyes shut. “Fine, okay.”

“Okay? What does okay mean?” 

“ _Okay,_ ” Zayn stresses, as if that one word would clear everything up. “Okay. I promise I won't change.”

“Okay,” Liam replies, sitting on top of Zayn's bony hips. “Okay. This is good. Okay.” 

“Are you going to be okay?” Zayn asks, eying Liam curiously.

“What?” Liam responds, raising his brows. “What are you talking about? I'm fine.”

Another roll of Zayn's eyes. “Nobody says okay that many times and means it.”

“I mean it.”

“Promise?” Zayn's smile is tired and cheeky. Liam would never say it out loud or even fully admit to thinking so, but he kind of loves it.

Instead he says

“I'm the one who made you promise in the first place, Zayn.”  
  
“Okay, okay. Alright, kiss me.”

“No.” Liam reels back from Zayn's sudden lunge forward, falls back until he is near sitting on top of Zayn's lean thighs. He watches as Zayn throws himself onto his own back in a rush of frustration, tearing at his own hair. “Jesus Christ, what is it now?” He demands.

“One more thing.”

“What? Another promise? Liam, you said you had two and gave me five.”

“No, no. That was only supposed to count as one. Just one promise.”

Now Liam can see the darkening of Zayn's eyes, the breathless impatience, the irritated squirming of his hips. He recalls the arch of Zayn's back, the smothered moans, the blood smeared across their bruised flesh and its almost like something he can remember from a night drenched in sin. 

For a moment it escapes him, his ability to swallow, to breathe, and in a flash he is devastating Zayn's mouth with his own; marking the tender tissue there with his tongue and his teeth. And it's just for the release; for the image it sears behind his rolling eyes.

“Fuck,” Zayn curses, twisting against Liam's chest. “I want you _now_.”

“Promise me.”

“Fine, fine, fine.” 

“Okay? Promise?” 

“What do you want from me, Liam?” Zayn asks urgently, the annoyance mixed with the thickness of his voice. 

Liam takes his time filling his mouth with the words, even if they've been knocking around in his head ever since the first time he'd heard the echoes of Zayn's tight voice gasping out his name. Every night is the same thing. He makes sure Zayn is looking at him, not just at his face, but in his eyes, the thin connection of threads between them where Liam knows (and Liam fucking knows it; knows he won't be able to control it) that something will betray him. 

“Promise that you won't fall in love with me.”

And even as he says the words, Liam is watching Zayn's face transform. He's watching the tightening of lines between his dark brows and the downward coil of his mouth. And Liam knows, knows from seeing it within Zayn's shadowed honey eyes that it's too goddamned late. The strangled thump of his heart and the thin rush of blood through his veins aggravate him enough to shake his head. 

“Promise me, Zayn,” Liam presses even though his mouth is nearly too dry to form the most basic of words.

“Can't.” Spots of red freckle Zayn's hollowed cheeks, his face hard and spasming as he struggles not to break.”I can't do that, Li. I can't promise you that.”

“Then I can't do this.”

Liam's feet find the floor once more; find which way is up and which is down. He starts to lift himself away from Zayn's stunned body when he suddenly feels himself being wrenched back toward the carpet in a blur of vertigo and the pain of his hair ripping from the roots. Throwing his hands out to catch his fall, Liam scrambles for balance as Zayn's fingers curl tighter and tighter into his hair, yanking it away from his skull. 

“Fuck you, Liam,” Zayn is murmuring in an angry, mangled growl as he wrenches Liam's head towards his own, clawing at his chest. And then Zayn is kissing him in a viscous act that is as farther from tender than Liam has ever imagined. It's animalistic, carnal and raw with the clashing of lips slick with saliva. Zayn drags his teeth along Liam's bottom lip, stringing it out far enough for the man to whine unexpectedly in pain, his eyes wide and flooded with white. It's like a deer, Zayn thinks briefly before that to is swallowed up in the wash of sin and tongue. His hands loosen in Liam's tangled hair only to tug his head closer to demolish the thin gap of air between their faces so their cheeks smash together hard enough to bruise the crest of bone underneath. 

It takes Liam a moment to realize what is happening, but by the time the thought hits his brain it's already ricocheting off like a thin beam of light flinging about inside of his must head. He's knotted in an awkward position, his knees angled almost inward toward Zayn's chest as the needy man pulls him down without giving Liam a chance to straddle his waist properly. But when Zayn pulls on his hair once more, his livid fists coiled like claws against Liam's tender scalp, Liam abandons all notions of positioning and allows his weight to fall against Zayn's small acquiescent body. His motions are jagged, unreserved. It's the want feel burn. The room smells of sex and they haven't even touched.

Zayn bites back a moan, considers their surroundings, the flush of Liam's full body against his own, and then slowly, he parts his legs allowing Liam to fall through them so they're aligned just right. Liam hisses as his cock brushes the soft weave of carpet underneath Zayn's ass. Zayn's knees steeple up on either side of Liam's hips, pressing in to hold them in place. 

“Please,” Is all that Zayn says. Just “Please, please, please.”

And Liam has never heard it like that before; has never heard that particular word on Zayn's lips in such a volatile way. Because behind the closed door of their bunk, hidden underneath the sheets, it was always “please, Liam, please” in this broken whispered voice, desperation pooling in the corners of Zayn's hollowed mouth. 

“Please, please, please.” Zayn begs as though he's vomiting the words; as if they are shoving violently past his lips just “please, please, please.”

He rocks up into Liam's body, hands slipping over biceps and shoulder blades and crooked, knuckle-like spine. They find the nearly drained bottle of lubricant and shove it into Liam's chest. (“ _please, please, please_ ”). 

Liam fumbles to push the cap back, covers his fingers first in the crunchy, hardened excess of liquid dried around the opening. He brushes it off onto the carpet, slamming the bottle upside down straight into the palm of his hand until the spot burgeons red in the ethereal moonlight. When he slips his slick fingers over his cock, Liam winces at the coppery burst of light that stabs behind his eyes. It's sharp enough to make him slam his lids shut, dizzying enough to force him to discard the bottle somewhere off the the side and brace his free hand against Zayn's stomach. Liam discovers that red is when your eyes are closed against the horizon of shimmering light. From there, his hand follows the course trail of hair leading from Zayn's navel to the swell between his pelvic bones, that rigid triangle of muscle. He fucks his own lubed hand, at the same time tracing circles into Zayn's heated sheath of skin.

Zayn bends his spine and bites hard into the back of his hand, the deep graying-pink hollows his teeth leave behind scrape against Liam's lips as he smears his saliva all over Liam's face. “Let me do it,” he insists zealously. 

Zayn wraps his fingers around Liam's cock, the cold lubricant sliding over his palm. He pushes back up to the base, alternately squeezing and releasing as he makes his way back down to the very tip, cool and wet with precome. Zayn can feel a faint pulse radiating from beneath the pink skin of Liam's swollen cock and as he presses his thumb over the slit, applying careful amounts of pressure, Liam's oily fingers creep down between their bodies, smudging over their skin before they find Zayn's puckered hole. Liam's fingers skirt fleetingly past the tight skin of Zayn's sack causing the other boy to inhale sharply, to forget what he was doing as he plunges his fingers into the dip under Liam's jutting hip bone.

“Just do it.”

( _please, please, please_ )

One hand tangled inside of Zayn's mussed hair, Liam delves his fingers inside, lubrication helping to gently ease the way. He can tell from the way Zayn gasps against his chest, the sharp bite to his skin, that it's been a while since Zayn has done this. He knows because it's probably been just as long for Liam, what with the guys being around all the time and no real privacy to indulge. Sensing that Zayn has still yet to breath, he wriggles his finger around inside of the other man a little longer before extracting it and bringing his hand up to rest just under Zayn's armpit. 

“I've got to hear you promise, Zayn.” As far as Liam knows the words are only a movement on his parched lips as they are drowned out in Zayn's long, throaty moan, the smaller man lifting his own hips, hands reaching between their bodies so he can guide himself onto Liam's cock. 

At first there is only warmth; a strange, tight tunnel of heat that snatches around Liam and tugs him deeper inside. He finds that Zayn's mouth is twisted against his own, their lips sloppy and almost angry as his head pops into Zayn's entrance. And there there's wet, like lips pulled taught around his shaft as Zayn's muscles clench around him and guide him in. Liam hisses into Zayn's open mouth, nearly bites down on the other man's tongue as it flicks the ribbed roof of Liam's mouth. They devour each other's moistened cries (although Liam can hardly tell if Zayn's are from pain or pleasure or a mixture of both) as Zayn rocks upward, slowly taking in more and more of Liam with each slide of his hips.

Liam knows, (he knows it in a moment of liquid pause just by looking at the painfully blissful, radiant stretch of Zayn's face) that neither of them will last very long from this point on. Pressed against both of their stomachs, Zayn's cock stands stiff and hot, pulsating as though it possesses it's own frantic heartbeat. He, himself, is erect and it's not even about Zayn wrapped around him in a firm, swallowing grip, but about Zayn's languorous body. 

They fuck callously, skins smoldering from friction and from the leftover anger that is welling from inside of them; because Zayn is reeling with his head thrown back against the carpet, his eyes frozen on some beautiful celestial spot in space and Liam can't seem to understand how he got here, his cock slamming into his best friend as if they've been locked inside of each other all along; as if they're still dealing blows against the planes of each other's faces just to see the blood run free. 

Liam runs his tongue flat along the plane of Zayn's chest, allowing his body to automatically adjust to the pace the smaller man is setting beneath him, first their skins bouncing off each other in opposite thrusts and, finally, the smooth rolling motion of their hips pressed together, shifting up and down as if powered by the same fast-paced drive. Zayn has a taste, as always had a taste that Liam knew from friendly kisses after shows and parties that always seemed to linger just a beat too long. From playful romps in hotel rooms that ended up drifting to good-natured, endearing bites of skin, just long enough to leave a slight bruise that Liam would later find his eyes fixed on around the table at whatever restaurant or bar the guys ended up at that night. Zayn has a taste of nicotine and sex on his skin now, that sharp scent of bodily fluids and just... human skin and soap and whatever else Zayn rubbed on his body after a shower or at night before bed. Liam loses his rhythm just thinking about it and then he and Zayn are slapping against each other all over again, the harsh pounding of bodies straining to get closer; the drag of his cock against Zayn's prostate sending the small man into near-epileptic spasms of ecstasy that jerk his contracted body upward into Liam's and sealing their skins together each time they meet. 

Their bodies thrum, clammy and searing within the same fraction of each second and craving the bitter ache of fingernails embedded in skin. 

Liam's thoughts are interrupted as he sees from the thin slits of his eyes and starred through clusters of eyelashes, Zayn's hand sliding from his ribcage and around his own cock. It reminds him, somehow, of all the times Zayn's fingers eagerly closed around Liam's wrist, seeking out the pulse with the tip of a thin index finger. The slight tendons striping Zayn's inner wrist, wrapped snugly in slender ribbons of blue veins, strain so hard against his papery skin that Liam is almost sure that it will split open, leaking onto the wiry carpet scraping against them. 

And Liam stops moving momentarily, his eyes fixed on the way Zayn grabs hold of his swollen cock, his fingers mapping the familiar flesh in a way that almost makes Liam jealous. To know something so thoroughly that it becomes your second sight. Only Zayn is pushing up now, pushing his cock into his hand that is still sticky with lubrication and dipping his body around Liam, consuming his flesh until they are as close as a shirt gets to skin. The way that Zayn touches himself, oblivious to anything but sense, his tongue lapping out to taste at whatever his mouth can attach to, his spine arching out and rolling back in, tensing his lean stomach muscles into straight, rigid lines makes Liam want to get down on his knees and repent. For what, he can't quite find the words, and if they are out there, they're trapped somewhere between their writhing skins in a place where sound is muffled by sweat and ink. Liam is swallowed by a desire to kiss Zayn senseless, to get lost somewhere deep within this other person and never find his way home.

Zayn is doing all the work now, his body a shivering mess of nerves and synapses that send him shooting out of his own skin, a thick rope of white spraying across Liam's bewildered cheeks and down both of their heaving chests. It kidnaps him from scent and sight, from taste and sound, shielding his weakening body from everything but the miracle of touch and how he seems to be hyper-aware of Liam's eyes glazing over his face, a satisfying purr resounding inside of his chest. Zayn flings his arms out over his head, clawing backwards at the carpet and relishing in the slow drag, bun of material against his back. Zayn has heard of toes curling in the throes of a dirty fuck but never has his body responded in such a way that he worries, fleetingly, of floating out though the cracked window and never returning to earth in one piece.

The taste of Zayn is salty and bitter against the buds of Liam's tongue. He feels it slowly drip down his cheek, the tingling slide across his throat like a warm, sticky blade, and is aware of it clumping in his hair. He licks his lips, pulls them into his mouth and then lowers them to Zayn's as if he is gong to speak into the plush smear of red. It only takes one kiss, careless and slick with spit. 

And then his body fees as though it's going to implode. Liam feels himself swell and then release into Zayn, hips jerking wildly at angles that seem to only bury him deeper into the man lying pliantly beneath him. He feels his face stretch into a wild cry that ends up humming nearly soundlessly into Zayn's hot, dry palm as he slaps it over Liam's mouth, muting the evidence of their skins haphazardly abandoned on the floor. 

And very suddenly, it's over.

Liam collapses into a pile of wasted flesh, his face slapping sweat-soaked onto Zayn's bare, overflowing chest. The spinning inside of his head is all at once murderous and resoundingly sweet, spilling out of his pores and streaming from behind his closed eyelids. Zayn, a dead weight against the floor, lifts one hand and achingly drags it through Liam's dampened hair, threading his fingers to the scalp, but this time the action is tender, saturated in the overwhelming afterglow of total immersion. It alone tells Liam two things: that there are promises unmade and still broken above their heads; promises that neither of them will open their mouths to speak. It tells him that in a collection of minutes, they will gather their bodies from the floor, so vacant and filled at the very same time, and descend upon the pillows they rest against every single night; always the same and never changing. 

Long minutes pass and a velvet-muffled buzzing courses just under Liam's skin, the hum of the generator, the roll of the highway just feet beneath their spent bodies. His eye is throbbing from where Zayn had punched him against these same strange walls and, as he shifts his head to see Zayn asleep, dissolving into the stained carpet with his bruised, swollen lips parted just enough to allow the thin exhalation of air, Liam can't imagine how his brain will arrange these images the next morning, How he'll sit at the small kitchenette table beside Niall's charging laptop, a cup of coffee warming the morning chill from his fingers, so liquified with fatigue and remember moments of absolute silence, his cheek rising ever so slightly with every breath that now fills Zayn's thirsty lungs. He'll remember, strangely enough, the taste of blood on his tongue, and of cigarettes, dull and somewhat sour and stale. Liam is plagued by the thought that perhaps he won't be able to recall at all the stretch of inked skin, or even the hum of his own frenetic moans snarled inside Zayn's mouth, and then is at once absolved by the absent-minded sensation of his own bony fingers moving to link with Zayn's, who is sleeping peacefully beside him, wedging together crookedly and without distress under this strange moon.   
  
  



End file.
